Promiscuous Hat
by DeathlikeSilence
Summary: A one-night stand with the Sorting Hat leaves Harry lusting for more. How will a heartbroken Ron cope with Harry's new infatuation? Rated M for sex scenes with hats. Entirely non-canon and unrealistic.
1. Autumn Imminent

Promiscuous Hat

_Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, and I do not make any money by writing this story._

**Chapter One: Autumn Imminent**

It was a brilliant summer day; the first of September. The air was light and humid, and the sky a clear aquamarine hue. The narrow compartments of the Hogwarts Express were filled with students eagerly awaiting their arrival at Hogwarts. The clock had only now struck twelve, and trolleys were rolling up and down the train delivering hot lunches to the anticipating pupils. The first years were shaking with nerves, and many others were filled with dread and terror at the mere thought of the war raging on in the outside world... Yet, despite the anxiety and fear that plagued most of their thoughts, none could deny the warm innocence of this September day. There were many adventures waiting to happen, and this day was young and rich with the promise of unexpected surprises.

Ron Weasley sat in his compartment, lost in summer daydreams. He had a blissful smile plastered on his face which he was entirely oblivious to, one that was anticipating with hope that this would finally be the year... Perhaps this year would be the one where he would finally confess his long-held feelings to his lover, and perhaps after all this waiting, they would be together at last...

"Ron! Why are you smiling at Hedwig like that?" Hermione demanded.

Ron was suddenly jerked out of his reveries. "What are you talking about? I wasn't smiling." At least, it wasn't _Hedwig_ he had been smiling at...

Ron looked at the others and realized that they were all staring at him with startled expressions. He blushed as Harry spoke, "Cut it out mate. You're creeping us all out."

Ron did not reply but instead took a large bite out of his sandwich and busied himself by chewing. He took care not to look up again at Harry, as he didn't want to be caught staring for the second time. However, he couldn't help thinking that it would be wonderful if the others would leave, allowing him to be alone with _him_...

After an hour passed, it became clear that nobody was going to leave the compartment. Ron began to grow desperate. Would they ever leave him alone with Harry? It seemed as if there was someone _always_ between them, no matter where he was. Ron turned and shot a dirty look at Hermione, who looked startled at his sudden hostility.

He needed to cause a distraction; something that would make Luna, Neville, and Hermione leave the compartment. Ron searched his brain frantically for a quick spell, and after making sure that nobody was watching him, he pointed his wand at the chandelier above them and muttered the words.

Ron had not taken into account that he was a terrible wizard with less than an ounce of talent, and his embarrassment was high when the chandelier only shook slightly instead of crashing down on Hermione as he had intended it to. At that moment Neville's toad also jumped out of his lap and darted out the compartment, at which Luna gasped loudly.

"It's alright," Neville mumbled. "He'll come back –"

"I knew it!" shrieked Luna. "It's the Huflomngonjjikajbsifflewurfs! They're on the train!"

The others raised their eyebrows but did not say anything.

"Don't you understand? They're part of the underground hump-back flamingo conspiracy and they're working with toads to lace our pumpkin juice with mutating potions! Quick, we have to find your toad and stop them before it's too late!"

Luna sprinted out of the compartment and Neville followed her rather hesitantly. The three watched them leave with utter confusion, but thought it best not to say a word.

"Anyway... Does anyone want the rest of my liquorice wands?" Hermione spoke. "I'm quite full –"

All of a sudden, Ron decided that he had had enough of this shit and Capslock!Ron abruptly emerged. "YOU KNOW WHAT, HERMIONE?" he boomed. "I AM QUITE FUCKING SICK OF ALL YOUR SHIT! YOUR NOSE IS TOO BIG AND YOUR SHIRT IS FUCKING HIDEOUS! AND I AM SICK AND TIRED OF YOU BEING A FUCKING MUDBLOOD, OKAY? SO JUST FUCK RIGHT OFF!"

Harry and Hermione gaped at Capslock!Ron with their mouths wide open. Finally, Hermione burst into tears. "I was just asking if you want some liquorice! You could've just said no!" Wailing, she ran out of the compartment, finally leaving Harry and Ron alone.

Ron grinned and stretched innocently. "Good riddance," he said.

Harry also looked relieved. "Yeah man, I didn't think she would ever leave. Now we can finally be alone!"

It was as if Christmas had come early for Ron. His face stretched into a wide grin and his eyes began to sparkle with hope. "You – you mean it? You've been waiting for us to be alone too?" His eyes began to glisten with tears.

"Of course!"

Ron's grin became wider, and he inched closer to Harry wondering if what he had been dreaming about would finally occur. He closed his eyes, slowly drawing his lips towards Harry, hoping...

"Now I can _finally_ go to the Slytherins' compartment and spy on Draco. You know, his hair is just so soft and fluffy! And I just can't get enough of his bad-boy attitude..."

The grin vanished completely from Ron's face and he sat very still, looking hurt. "M-Malfoy?"

"Who else? I wanted to go much earlier, but you know how Hermione can be – she's such a Mudblood with a huge nose and a hideous shirt, just like you said!" Harry chuckled. "Anyways, are you coming?"

Ron glumly nodded. _It's never the poor ginger kid,_ he thought with tears in his eyes. _Nobody ever wants the poor ginger kid! _


	2. Harry Does Not Have Split Ends

_Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, and I do not make any money by writing this story._

**Chapter Two: In Which Harry Does Not Have Split Ends**

The two boys entered the Slytherins' compartment. Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson were all seated around Draco, who appeared to be telling them heroic rhapsodies of his summer.

"Yeah, I got this scar when I was out hunting dragons in Hungary," he was casually saying. "That Hungarian Horntail was quite a beast – but not strong enough for me, of course." He flipped his soft, golden locks and grinned in a way that made Harry go hard in the pants. "I slaughtered that thing with my bare hands. Actually, I used only one hand, because I was fighting off a dementor and Molly Weasley with the other hand."

"Wait a minute," Pansy said. "Didn't you get that scar when your father hit you with his cane for touching his briefcase?"

Draco went red in the face. "Pfft, no!" he spluttered. "What are you talking about? That never happened –"

"Yeah, I think I remember!" Pansy exclaimed as Blaise snickered loudly. "I was there, remember? He told you not to touch it but you –"

Pansy was unable to finish her sentence, as Malfoy curled his hand into a fist and punched the shit out of that bitch. With blood pouring down her face, she hurried out of the compartment. It was then that Draco finally looked up, noticing Ron and Harry.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"I'm being a dashing hero, as always," announced Harry triumphantly, trying to make his voice as manly as a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid possibly could. "I know you're up to something, Malfoy, and your boyish good looks won't fool me! So tell me what you're up to, because I really have nothing else to do."

Ron looked extremely bitter at these words and merely stood, muttering something under his breath.

Draco laughed in an evil sort of way. "How foolish do you think I am? I'll never tell you what the Dark Lord has sent me to do!"

His eyes fell to his arm, which was hidden under the sleeves of his robe. He quickly pulled up his sleeves to reveal a scary-looking image of a snake coiled around a skull. Harry gasped dramatically.

"Oops!" Draco said loudly. "How silly of me to leave my sleeves rolled up like that, with my _Dark Mark_ just lying there for everybody to see! Ha ha, that's quite a blunder. You know, the _Dark Mark_, which the _Dark Lord_ gives to only his brave, powerful supporters? You've heard of it, haven't you Potter?"

Ron glared in jealously at Harry's awed face. "I bet he'd like me if _I _had a Dark Mark," he thought sadly.

"Yes, it's quite something that the Dark Lord himself has chosen _me_, out of everyone else –"

"If you're not going to tell us what you're plotting, then we might as well leave," Ron angrily snapped.

Draco grinned. "You're right, Fire Crotch, I will never reveal the highly dangerous and important mission that the Dark Lord himself has sent me. Although, I should probably mention that I wouldn't bother buying Dumbledore a Christmas present this year." He winked. "And you probably shouldn't drink any liquor you find in Slughorn's cabinet either, heh."

Harry sighed. "Fine then, if you're not even going to give us a hint..."

"Malfoy, did you draw that on yourself?" Zabini suddenly interrupted, his eyes carefully examining Draco's tattoo.

"I was wondering what you borrowed my markers for," Pansy responded, who had just come back from the lavatory with a handful of tissues.

"Ha, that's – that's ridiculous," Draco scoffed. "Of course I didn't draw that on! The Dark Lord..."

But the others were already snickering. Ron and Harry burst into hysterics, which enraged Draco.

"Hey, fuck off Potter!" he snarled. "You're just a whiny emo pussy with faggy glasses and split ends, and your parents are dead! Ha!"

A grimace of utter loathing fell upon Harry's face, and he grinded his teeth with the outmost fury as he attempted to control himself from murdering Draco.

"And what are _you _laughing at, Radish-head?" Draco continued hastily. "Your family is poor and you live in a fucking trash bin! And those shoes are _so _last year!"

Ron was accustomed to hearing that he was poor, but the remark about his shoes was upsetting. "They're not that bad," he mumbled quietly, his mouth quivering. "It's all dad could afford..." He tried to ignore the burning prick in his eyes, until his tears finally escaped. "I hate you Draco Malfoy!" he wailed as he ran to the loo.

Harry, however, was glued to his spot, shaking with anger. "I may be a little bit emotional, and my parents might be dead," he snapped through gritted teeth, "but I most definitely do NOT HAVE SPLIT ENDS!"

With this, he pointed his wand at Draco and screamed out a spell with shaking fury. For a second nobody spoke, and Draco looked terrified. But a minute passed without anything happening and he decided that Harry's spell had backfired.

"Some spell, Potter," he smirked. "Nice try, but I'm just too powerful for the likes of you, since I'm a Death Eater and all..."

A strange, pungent odour slowly seeped in, and the others began to sniff it with hesitant curiosity.

"Something smells like rotten fish," Goyle remarked.

The others continued sniffing, attempting to find the source of this hideous odour. "Pansy!" Draco sharply said. "Did you forget to clean out your vagina again?"

Mortified, Pansy fled to the lavatory clutching a cake of soap. "That should take care of it," Draco said, relieved.

Harry began to snicker. "It's not Pansy, mate, the stench is still there," said Crabbe.

"Malfoy, I think it's _you_!" Zabini suddenly exclaimed in amusement. "Have you grown a fucking vagina?"

All colour drained from Malfoy's face. "You – you didn't," he spluttered at Harry.

"I don't have split ends," Harry answered coldly.


	3. Making Lemon in Dumbledore's Office

_None of these characters belong to me, and I do not make any money by writing this story._

Writing about hatsex is evidently harder than I imagined. Enjoy! And please review :D

* * *

**Chapter Three: Making Lemon in Dumbledore's Office**

The train had finally reached its destination, and Harry and Ron were pulling their luggage out of the train. Ron was still in awe about what Harry had done; the news about Draco's new vagina had reached both ends of the trains and his hysterical sobbing had been audible to just about everyone. Pansy had tried to comfort him while the others roared in laughter, but she had received another blow on the face for her interference.

"You did that all for _me_," Ron dreamily repeated for the eleventh time. "You gave Draco Malfoy a vagina, just for me!"

Harry nodded. "Er, yeah Ron, I did it completely for you. That's how much our friendship means to me. Because even though he insulted my parents and my hair...I did that only because of what he said to _you_," he lied.

Christmas had once again arrived for Ron, and he gave a deep sigh. "My hero..."

"Yes, yes I am. So, you know, remember what I did _just for_ _you _the next time you catch me...oh I don't know, shagging your sister or something of the sort..." Harry spoke these last words very quickly but Ron seemed not to have heard them. He was too busy hanging up tinsel on the Christmas tree of his mind.

"Harry! Ron!"

Harry turned around to see Hermione scurrying towards them, her nose heavily draped with bandages. "What happened to your nose?" he asked her when she had reached them.

"I gave myself plastic surgery just for you, Ron," she explained. "And look, I even got a new shirt and burned the other one. So now will you stop being mad at me?"

"Are you still a Mudblood?" Ron asked coldly.

Hermione hesitated. "Well, I can't really change my DNA Ron, even if I use magic..."

"Some witch you are," he snapped.

Hermione looked wounded but followed them silently to the castle. Harry filled her in on what had taken place in Draco's compartment. As expected, Hermione was a total Mudblood and did not approve of what Harry had done.

"Well _I _thought it was brilliant," Ron coldly responded.

Harry agreed with him, and he replayed the scene in his mind over and over again all the way to the castle. On the way, people congratulated him on his fine spell work, which were received by him with a wide grin and Hermione's disapproving scowl.

Hermione was evidently not the only one who opposed Harry's action, as Professor McGonagall was waiting for the trio with an angry expression on her face. "Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to have a word with you in his office," she spoke sternly, wiping the smirk off Harry's face.

"We'll wait for you in the Great Hall," Hermione whispered as she and Ron left.

Harry gulped as he climbed the stairs to Dumbledore's office. He hadn't anticipated this; he did not want Dumbledore to be angry with him when the school year had barely begun. He mumbled the password and stepped into the professor's office, somewhat ashamed. "Er, you wanted to see me, sir?"

Professor Dumbledore looked up from his desk and put down his quill. He did not look at all pleased to see Harry; but to Harry`s surprise, there was solemnity in his eyes rather than disapproval. "Ah, Harry," he said softly. "Please sit. I have something important to talk to you about."

Harry was slightly confused but he obeyed silently. "I have just received the news that – "

Dumbledore's words were abruptly cut off by a deafening bang from across the hall. Another noise followed; this time one of shattering glass and of various objects crashing to the floor. Harry's head jerked up instantly. Dumbledore seemed irritated at this interruption, but he stood up nonetheless. "I`d better go investigate," he said, looking quite disappointed. "It's probably Peeves again..."

Harry did not say a word as Dumbledore left. He looked around the office in silence, waiting for the professor to return, but five minutes passed and he found himself impatient with boredom. He was starving, and the fact that everybody else was downstairs enjoying the first feast of the year vexed him immensely. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, twenty...

His stomach growling, Harry left his seat and began to pace around Dumbledore's office. He wasn't too surprised that it was taking Dumbledore this long to return; after all, he was unimaginably old and would probably croak any day now. Harry hoped desperately that now was not the moment that Dumbledore would bite the dust, as it could take hours until his corpse was discovered seeing as everyone was in the Great Hall. Harry could be stuck in the office for ages...

He was still pacing. Dumbledore's office typically interested him, but not today when Harry was so hungry and was dreading whatever punishment was coming to him. He caught a glimpse of a mystical object from the corner of his eye, and he suddenly stopped pacing. It was the Sorting Hat, sitting neatly on top of a bookcase.

Harry had never really taken a deep look at the Sorting Hat. He had never had any particular interest in talking hats, yet there was something special about this hat that greatly interested him. Harry`s thoughts faded from him as he examine the hat closely. It had its own unique character; ragged and faded and yet strong in its own way. It was quite a handsome hat, Harry suddenly decided. Sure, it wasn`t the prettiest hat he had ever seen, but it had its own charm; its own hidden beauty.

With this abrupt appreciation for the Sorting Hat, Harry reached for it and pulled it over his ears. "Hullo, hat," he said in a seductive tone. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

The hat chuckled in its sophisticated manner. "Indeed, Mr. Potter. And what are you in here for today?"

"These bloody teachers just don't appreciate the creativity of my spellwork," Harry explained, "Even though it was a brilliant piece of magic. And besides, Malfoy completely had it coming. How dare he accuse _me _of having split ends!"

The Sorting Hat nodded as if it understood. "Clearly Mr. Malfoy has no idea what he is talking about, as usual. Your hair is well-trimmed and silky; as a matter of fact, you have some of the finest locks I have ever seen..."

Harry was becoming more and more aroused. Suddenly the hat seemed torturously irresistible to him, although he wasn't sure why he was feeling this way. He had never been attracted to hats before, but right now the shabby piece of fabric sitting on his head seemed like the sexiest thing in the world.

Anxious yet excited, Harry coolly responded with a thanks and silence ensued. He wasn't sure what to do now; obviously there was some chemistry between the two, but what could he possibly do? He couldn't think of anything to say to the hat without making a fool of himself, and thus he sat quietly and hoped that the sorting hat would make the first move.

Harry was aware of how stupid he looked, sitting nervously on a stool waiting for a hat to flirt with him. "Well then, if there's nothing else to talk about...perhaps I should put you back on the shelf?"

The hat laughed as if it was mocking him. "What's the matter, Harry? I know what you're thinking. But why are you so nervous? You know that we both want it."

"You know, I've always thought – there's a special connection between us –" Harry mumbled, sweat running down his forehead. "Like you understand me in a way that nobody, not even Ron, can."

"Yes, of course," drawled the hat. And I can fulfill all your needs, ones that none of your friends can satisfy."

This was enough encouragement for Harry. He tore the hat off his head and captured its mouth in a long, delicate kiss. The sensation of torn fabric in his mouth sent shivers up his spine as they caressed each other. Harry had never felt anything like this, nor had he ever imagined that something could make him feel this...euphoric. It was too much, and too cruel to let this stop...

Harry broke apart from the kiss. "We don't have much time," he whispered. "If we're going to do this, we have to do it fast."

The hat nodded as Harry unzipped his pants. Excited, he let his clothes fall to the ground and moved closer to the hat. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the waiting hat and moaned instantly at the softness and warmth of its hole. He thrust into the hat as hard as he possibly could, desperately hoping to reach his climax before Dumbledore returned.

The hat panted heavily as Harry pushed into it. "Talk dirty to me, Harry," it begged.

"Er, okay," Harry agreed, although he wasn't quite sure how to do this to a hat. "Um..."

Harry increased his pace. "Uh, 100% polyester," he began. The hat moaned in delight. "Yes yes, keep going!"

"Yeah, 100% polyester...and uh, Made in Taiwan."

"Yes, yes!" shrieked the hat.

Harry pushed harder and harder into the hat as he spoke. "Do not machine wash!" he exclaimed, and the hat moaned louder.

"More, more!" it pleaded.

"Do not bleach!" Harry shouted, and their moans grew ever louder.

"I'm almost there!" the hat shrieked.

Finally, with all the energy he could muster, Harry gave one mighty thrust as he roared "DRY CLEAN ONLY!"

It was too much for both of them; Harry instantly poured a vast amount of his juices into the hat, and they both remained still as they savoured this precious ecstasy.

After a moment, Harry quickly pulled himself out of the hat and dressed himself. "That was magical," he whispered, gently stroking the hat.

He froze as the door suddenly threw open. Dumbledore entered, looking pale and grim.


	4. Nobody Wants Your Lemonade

Thanks for all the reviews! Enjoy the next chapter, and keep reviewing :)

_None of these characters belong to me, and I don't make any money by writing this story._

_

* * *

_Chapter Four: Nobody Wants Your Lemonade

Sweat began to flow profusely. Harry was so shocked at Dumbledore's return that he was entirely speechless. He quickly dropped the hat on the desk, and an uncomfortable silence dawned in the room.

Dumbledore, however, did not seem to notice. He headed straight to his desk without a word and seated himself. Harry did the same, a sudden dread coursing through his veins. Even if the professor was unaware of what had just taken place in his own office, there was no doubt that he would be furious at Harry for the spell he had cast on Draco. Trying to end this awkward silence, Harry nervously spoke. "So professor, did you catch Peeves?"

"It wasn't Peeves this time," Dumbledore muttered darkly. "Professor Trelawney has been drinking too much vodka again..."

Harry didn't know how to respond to this, but he couldn't stop a smirk from escaping his lips.

"Now Harry," Dumbledore spoke again, this time looking as stern as professor McGonagall. "Do you know why you are here?"

Harry sighed in shame. "Yes, sir, because I gave Draco a vagina. I'm sorry sir, it'll not –"

"No, no, that's not why you're here, although that prat probably deserved it. I would've done it myself one of these days, that damn Malfoy git..."

Harry beamed widely. "So I'm not in trouble?"

"No, Harry, I've brought you here because there is something important that I need to discuss with you."

Relief washed over Harry and he waited eagerly for professor Dumbledore's news.

Dumbledore sighed solemnly. "The Board of Magical Education has been keeping a close eye on me lately. They find it suspicious that we spend so much time together...although I've tried to explain to them numerous times that what we have is completely natural and beautiful..." Dumbledore trailed off and sadly wiped his eyes. "I regret to inform you that we may not be as fortunate to see each other as often as we used to, at least for now. I don't think it's the best idea to, you know, hang out together in a dark cave in the middle of the sea or anything. They might find it suspicious."

Harry was crushed. "Does this mean that our weekly bath nights are over? What will I tell my rubber ducky?"

Dumbledore nodded as fresh tears emerged from his eyes. "What about our pyjama parties in the Room of Requirement?" Harry continued. "And –"

"It's _all_ over!" sobbed Dumbledore, burying his face into his hands.

Harry was silent. "Okay. I guess I understand," he said quietly.

"Listen Harry," Dumbledore suddenly said. "I think it's best to use this opportunity to meet new people. I would like you to get to know Professor Slughorn. Become good friends with him. I know that he would be very much interested in a threesome, maybe sometime after things cool down with the Board of Magical Education..."

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore looked extremely serious again. "And...I will need you to extract a certain memory from Professor Slughorn."

"A memory?"

"It's very important for me to have this memory, Harry. Do everything it takes to get it from him. I can't tell you anything else about it now, but it's very vital that you obtain this memory for me. Do you understand?"

"No –"

"Good. Run along now, and join the others before the feast is over. Don't forget what I've told you," Dumbledore mumbled.

Harry was still puzzled, but he stood up to leave. Dumbledore suddenly caught a sight of the Sorting Hat, which was carelessly strewed on his desk. "Take the Sorting Hat with you," he added.

Harry obeyed.

* * *

"What is taking Harry so long?" Ron asked impatiently. They had been waiting for Harry to return from Dumbledore's office for quite a while and were now beginning to worry.

"I imagine that Professor Dumbledore is very angry at Harry for what he did," Hermione spoke.

"Do you think he'll get expelled?" Seamus asked curiously.

"It'll serve him right," Hermione said hastily. "He shouldn't have – "

This was the end of Ron's patience, and Hermione immediately received a sharp blow to the face. Twenty minutes passed without Harry's return, and they all ate in silence as Hermione nursed her black eye.

"Why are you so upset, Neville?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.

Neville sighed deeply. "Do you ever feel as if we're all just in a terrible, lemony fanfic?" he asked solemnly.

The others contemplated this in silence. "Who do you think the irresponsible author has shipped this time?" Ginny said.

"Maybe it's me," Seamus said hopefully. "Everyone always writes about Draco and Harry, Draco and Hermione, Draco and Ginny, Harry and Ron...but I've never seen one about me! Do you think it'll finally be my turn?"

A horrifying thought suddenly hit Ron. "What if – what if it's the Sorting Hat?"

Everyone laughed. "Come on, Ron," said Hermione, evidently forgetting her black eye, "no self-respecting writer would write lemon about a hat. That's almost as unlikely as a sex story with Neville."

Ron shook his head. "You don't know fanfic writers. They can be absolutely ruthless."

At this particular moment, Luna Lovegood spontaneously skipped by their table, the radishes swinging from her earlobes as she moved. "I smell lemons," she sang, and then she disappeared into oblivion.

The others nervously sniffed the air. "She's right," Ginny said, her face turning pale. "There's a sudden stench of lemons in the air...it's overwhelming, and..."

"And here comes Harry," Ron finished quietly.


	5. Fate of the Hufflepuff

_None of these characters belong to me, and I do not make any money by writing this story._

I haven't gotten any reviews in a long time. I hope that people are still reading! Here is the next chapter. I hope that you all enjoy it and leave me a review, and I will try to update as fast as I can.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Fate of the Hufflepuff**

"Harry, have you been making lemonade with Dumbledore again?" Hermione bluntly asked.

Harry's face turned red. "No, not this time."

"Then who was it this time? Draco?" Ginny asked curiously. "Goyle? Hagrid? Nearly Headless Nick?"

Harry furiously shook his head. "I haven't been shagging anybody," he argued. "I have no idea what you all are talking about."

"But this overwhelming stench of lemon – " Hermione began.

"You know what? It's probably Trelawney shagging a House Elf or something. Dumbledore found her by his office, smashed. That's why it took me so long to get here."

The others decided that this was a likely story, and thus said nothing more on the topic. The only person who did not seem satisfied with Harry's explanation was Ron, who was staring at him quietly looking extremely wounded.

"Did Dumbledore give you detention?" Neville asked.

"No, I didn't get in any trouble at all," Harry explained proudly. "He just wanted me to, uh, talk to Slughorn. He wants me to get a memory from him. He wouldn't tell me what it's of, but he said that it's really important."

Hermione looked interested. "What do you think it's about?"

"It's probably some dark hidden secret about Tom Riddle's past that'll explain how he's immortal, and why he's a mutated serpent man with creepy eyes and no nostrils. But I'm only guessing."

Hermione opened her big mouth to say something else, but Harry cut her off. He was sick of always talking about Voldemort, the war, his dead parents, and other boring and useless things. Why couldn't Hermione ever talk about something actually meaningful, such as Draco Malfoy's dreamy eyes?

"So, I reckon that Malfoy's still crying about his new vagina," Harry snickered.

"Nah, Snape's taking care of it," Seamus said. "We saw him take Draco to the dungeons with a pair of handcuffs and some rope. They've been gone for quite some time now, actually."

Everybody smirked at the gratuitous Draco/Snape reference. Harry cringed with jealously, and Ron was still crying on the inside.

"Well _I _still think that Dumbledore should have punished you," Hermione remarked disapprovingly. "You did break the rules!"

"For the last time, Malfoy deserved it! He said that I have split ends! And – and he insulted Ron's shoes!"

Everyone gasped. A tear ran down Ron's face as he recalled what Draco had said. "That's right. He went there. _And_ he wouldn't even tell me what secret mission Voldemort has given him. He didn't even give me a bloody hint! 'Don't bother getting Dumbledore a Christmas present this year'? 'Don't drink anything you find in Slughorn's liquor cabinet'? What kind of a fucking clue is that?!"

Hermione suddenly dropped her fork. "It sounds like he's up to something dangerous! He probably meant that he's going to kill Dumbledore!"

"Don't be stupid," Harry laughed. "Maybe Dumbledore has just converted to Judaism. In that case, it would be highly insensitive of us to buy him Christmas presents, wouldn't it? Draco was probably just trying to give us advice so that we don't offend Dumbledore."

Everyone else nodded in agreement. "So it's all clear," Dean said. "This year we'll all get Dumbledore Hanukkah gifts instead."

Hermione was beginning to get impatient. "But how do you explain the other thing Draco said, about Professor Slughorn's liquor? Obviously there must be poison in one of –"

"Seriously Hermione, you're too paranoid," said Ginny. "Draco was clearly just warning Harry not to take other people's things. Isn't that good advice? Stealing would ruin Harry's friendship with Slughorn, and Draco was just advising Harry to be more considerate."

"Yeah, Draco's just looking out for Harry," Neville agreed.

"And you shouldn't read Hagrid's _Crack Wizard_ magazines either," added Seamus. "Because then Professor Trelawney would get fired and _that _would ruin some friendships also."

Everyone agreed with Seamus. "Did everybody get that?" Dean said. "This year we're going to stay out of teachers' personal alcohol and Hagrid's porn."

"We should thank Draco later for his wise suggestions," Ginny said.

Hermione angrily opened her fat Mudblood mouth to argue, but everybody pelted her with large rocks before she had the chance to speak. Blood began to pour out of her cerebral cortex and she immediately passed out. Everyone was relieved.

"I claim her pudding," Harry said quickly, reaching toward her plate before anyone else had the chance. "Who wants her pumpkin jui –"

"You shagged the Sorting Hat didn't you!" Ron suddenly burst out.

Everyone looked at him in surprise. His face was redder than usual, and tears were threatening to emerge from his moist, angry eyes. "Don't lie!" he yelled.

"Shhh!" Harry hissed, afraid that someone would hear his friend. "It's not true, I would never – "

"You LIAR! How could you do this to me?!"

"I didn't do anything! Why would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Ahem! Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, we are trying to start the Sorting Ceremony!" Professor McGonagall sharply called to them.

Ron ignored her. He wiped the tears away from his eyes. "I knew I smelled the lemons on you as soon as you came in! I knew it was you and the Sorting Hat, I just knew it!"

He burst into tears, ignoring McGonagall's second "AHEM!" Harry could not understand why Ron was this hurt, or why he was causing such a scene. Angrily, he threw the bowl of pudding at Hermione's bloody head and Caplocks!Harry made an inevitable appearance.

"I DID NOT SHAG THE SORTING HAT, OKAY?"

The Great Hall was suddenly silent. Nobody spoke. Everyone gaped at Harry with their mouths open.

Harry felt his face turn red again. "Well, I didn't, okay? I just wanted to make that clear." He sat down in his seat, waiting for people to look away.

Professor McGonagall continued glaring at Harry. "If you two pole smokers are done bickering, I would like to start the Sorting Ceremony. We're already running late, seeing as the feast is nearly over and the First Years are still standing in line waiting to be sorted. Unfortunately we couldn't begin earlier, because for some strange reason the Sorting Hat was with Harry Potter for the first few hours of the feast." She gave Harry another dirty look.

"And during these few hours, the Sorting Hat and I were discussing how we like each other only as friends," Harry quickly added.

"Nevertheless, we shall now commence," McGonagall said hastily, her death glare still not fading. She put on her spectacles and read the first name on the list. A scrawny little boy nervously dashed to the front of the room and sat on the stool, pulling on his hat.

Harry guiltily looked at Ron, who was sobbing heavily with his head buried in his hands. He forced himself to peel his eyes away from the crying Ron. Harry hastily turned his attention to the little boy under the Sorting Hat, who suddenly seemed extremely uncomfortable. The little boy began to twitch, as if the hat felt strangely..._sticky_.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry suddenly realized what was going on – _he had forgotten to clean off the hat after he had sprayed that enormous load of semen into it. _

As soon as the Sorting Hat pronounced the word "Hufflepuff", the Great Hall was filled with sympathy for the poor boy. Harry watched in horror as McGonagall then yanked the hat off the star-crossed boy. A thick glob of white fluid streamed out of the hat, tangling the Hufflepuff's hair and his robes in a hideous sticky mess...


	6. Nothing to do with Hermione's Pudding

I feel like nobody's reading this story...I hope that more people start reviewing, because otherwise I don't know if I'll continue writing it. Thanks to . for reviewing. I hope you continue reading and reviewing.

_None of these characters belong to me, and I do not make any money by writing this story._

_

* * *

_**Chapter Six: It Has Nothing to do with Hermione's Pudding **

The sorting ceremony was now long over, and Harry was still receiving high-fives from his Housemates. Harry was grinning widely. He had stopped trying to deny what had happened; the shag had been pleasurable enough, but all the praise he was getting made it even better. He had barely been back at Hogwarts for a day, and he had already given Draco Malfoy a sex change, pelted Hermione with rocks, made love to the Sorting Hat, _and _had dumped a large load of his semen onto a first year's head! "I think I can get used to being the bad boy for a change," he thought boastfully.

There was just one person, however, who didn't at all approve of what Harry had done. Ron had been scowling ever since the feast. He could barely even look at Harry; his eyes would fill with tears at once and he would turn away with his throat burning and a sinking feeling in his crumbling heart. For him it seemed as if aeons had passed since Harry had stood up to Draco for him. Now he felt worthless; after all, he was just a poor, miserable ginger kid with last year's shoes.

Ron burst into tears for the eleventh time as he glanced at his shoes. They were his favourite pair, they really were. So what if they were last year's style? It was all his father could afford from the bargain bin at Wizardmart. Ron had always assumed that Harry did not care about such things, but now he could not help wondering if his shoes were the reason why Harry had chosen the Sorting Hat over him.

Ron buried his head into Hedwig's soft feathers. He had been sitting on the windowsill for the past three hours, crying and explaining his problems to Harry's owl. He had always seen Emo!Harry sitting on the windowsill with Hedwig and figured that he would give it a try. Now he understood exactly how Emo!Harry felt; depressed, misunderstood, lonely...having the sudden urge to dye his hair black, wear tight jeans, and write awful poetry...

Perhaps after all these years, Emo!Ron should finally emerge from his dark and miserable cave, Ron thought bitterly. He angrily raised his wand, threatening to summon Harry's hair dye. But then he let it drop to the ground and uttered another bitter sob. No, what good would that do? Harry still wouldn't want him; he would still run to the Sorting Hat, Draco, Hagrid, or Dumbledore whenever he wanted a shag without even giving Ron a second glance. It was hopeless.

He continued sobbing into the unfortunate owl. Hedwig's bright, ivory feathers were now glued together in dense clumps of snot. It suddenly popped into Ron's head that this bird was the most stunning and enchanting creature that he had ever set his eyes upon. He was suddenly turned on by her soft, frail body and her large, innocent eyes. But before this could turn into some depraved bestiality story, the door opened and in came Harry, saving Hedwig from a painful raping.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked coldly, stifling a sob.

"We've all been in the common room, talking about my awesome shag with the Sorting Hat," Harry bragged. "I'm basically the biggest hero that ever existed. What's more, we've been _underage-drinking. _Because that's how much of a badass I am now."

Ron did not answer, instead he watched Harry coldly with his arms crossed. Harry did not seem to notice. He began to change into his pyjamas, singing to himself with a satisfied smirk etched on his face. Ron watched his backstabbing friend slowly change, the lump growing in his throat and the tears beginning to rise.

Harry suddenly stopped as if realizing that Ron was acting strange. "Where did my hair dye go?" he wondered. He looked at Ron questioningly, who was quietly stroking Hedwig. "Ron? Why did your pants suddenly get tighter? And where did you get that Fallout Boy shirt?"

A thin trail of mascara tainted tears gracefully slithered down Emo!Ron's face. "How bitter this existence is," he wept, flipping his hair. "How utterly miserable and wretched. I am alone, so alone, why does no one understand? My soul is deep and tormented, and I weep tears of acid and poison, just waiting to die."

Harry responded to this horrid poetry in baffled silence. After a long, bizarre pause, he finally spoke. "Is this because I ate Hermione's pudding? I'm really sorry mate, I didn't you know wanted it this bad –"

"THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HERMIONE'S PUDDING!" Emo!Ron shrieked.

Harry was again speechless. Ron broke out again in loud, hysterical sobs. "Nobody understands me!" he wailed. "I am so utterly misunderstood! I hate my life! DRAMA! ANGST, ANGST, ANGST!"

Harry was of course no stranger to angst and emotional outbursts. This was something that he had not expected from Ron, however. "Well, calm down now! It can`t be _that_ bad. Tell me what`s wrong, I`ll help you figure it out."

"Leave me alone! I`m sure you`d rather be with the Sorting Hat than talk to me!"

"Why would you think that?" Harry wondered, puzzled.

A fresh stream of charcoal tears emerged from Ron`s eyes. "Don`t try to pretend, Harry. It`s obvious that I mean nothing to you, even after all these years. After all, I`m just a poor, unwanted ginger kid with - with last year`s sneakers!" Ron gulped as he uttered the last three words.

Harry was now beginning to understand why Ron was so upset. He walked gently over to Ron and wiped off his tears in a totally homosexual way. "That`s not true," he assured him softly. "That thing with the Sorting Hat meant nothing at all. It was just a one-night stand, and it will never happen again."

Ron cheered up slightly at these words. "You promise?" he sniffed.

"I promise, Ron," Harry answered. "And you know what else? Your shoes are like, totally stylish. They`re not last year`s fashion _at all_."

Ron beamed with joy. "Golly, Harry! You have made me so incredibly happy. I feel like dancing under a rainbow with bunny rabbits!" And at once, the mascara tears faded and his jeans returned to their regular size.

Harry sighed in relief. He didn`t know how long he could have tolerated an even bigger cry-baby than himself.

When they had both climbed into their beds and Harry had flicked off the light, he heard a soft voice call to him. "I don`t think you have split ends," Ron whispered. "No matter what anybody else says."


	7. Slughorn's Secret Memory

Thanks to everyone who's been reading, and especially to those who reviewed. It took me awhile to update because I've had writer's block and didn't know how to continue the story. So here is an extra long chapter to make up for it. If you have any suggestions for what should happen next, let me know. Enjoy the chapter and please review!

**Chapter Seven: Slughorn's Secret Memory**

Harry woke up to his first day of classes after a blissful slumber. The previous night had been unexpectedly long and eventful. Still, he did not regret much of it. The amazing shag with the Sorting Hat was still on his mind. And if Ron hadn't gone completely bipolar, last night would have been absolutely perfect.

With a heaving sigh, Harry forced himself out of bed. Ron was already downstairs, and Hedwig was frantically trying to peck the dried clumps of snot out of her feathers. Poor ill-fated bird, Harry thought, she had awoken to this same state numerous times in his own emo days. He flicked his wand and the mess of tears and boogies disappeared from the bird's shining feathers. Then, making sure that his hair dye was still safely locked up in his trunk, Harry walked down the stairs to the Great Hall.

He found Ron sitting with Neville, Seamus, and Ginny at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was seated beside them with her head wrapped heavily in bandages. She was sipping her porridge through a straw; the bowl of pudding Harry had chucked at her had hit her right on the mouth and had taken out three of her teeth. She tried to say hello to Harry as he approached the group, but all that came out of her mouth was a stream of drool and liquid porridge.

"Harry," said Seamus. "What are you doing on your break? We're going to pick daisies and have a delightful picnic with strawberries and crumpets. I was going to invite you, but I thought you might want to spend your break with...well, you know..."

He winked at the last two words.

Harry nervously glanced at Ron, whose face immediately contorted into a jealous frown. "I remember when we used to pick daisies and have wonderful p-picnics w-with lemons," Ron began, his voice quivering. "But now I'm just an unwanted ginger kid –"

"You know, I was never into the Sorting Hat," Harry interrupted quickly. "Last night was nothing, nothing at all. Just a quick shag, that's all. It hasn't even slipped my mind since then. I don't think I even want to see the Hat again, to tell you the truth."

Ron was again cheerful at these words. "So you'll come?" he asked hopefully.

Harry was about to say yes, but then he remembered what Dumbledore had asked him to do. As he was eager to resume their bath nights as promptly as possible, Harry decided that he better find out what Dumbledore needed as quick as he could.

"I can't," Harry said glumly. "I have to talk to Slughorn after class."

Ron looked disappointed, but he was immensely relieved that Harry wasn't running to the Sorting Hat again. "That's a shame," said Neville. "I baked enough lemon tarts for five people, but I guess we'll have plenty left over since nobody else wants to come."

Hermione quickly raised her hand to indicate that she was indeed interested in tagging along with the others and taking part in their gay English picnic, and that she would even bring along her tea set and serve marmalade, but everybody ignored her. Disappointed, she slunk back in her chair and continued drinking her porridge.

The day passed slowly for Harry. During his long, tedious lectures he would find his thoughts drifting away, gracefully breaking free of his control and settling into nostalgia of the ecstasy and thrill of the previous night. A few instances he nearly fell asleep, his daydreams being so lucid and drenched with lust. The Sorting Hat's voice kept whispering in his ear. _Dry clean only_, it moaning seductively, calling him, begging him to take it away into that wonderful world of oblivion..._Dry clean only_...

Harry suddenly felt a sharp blow on the back of his head and jumped abruptly. Professor Snape was standing over him, his monstrous nose obstructing his burning glare. Harry realized in embarrassment that he had indeed fallen sleep, moaning the words "dry clean only" and leaving a massive puddle of drool on the table. Everybody had turned to stare at him. Some were sniggering, but others were winking, as if they knew...

Snape continued giving Harry his usual death glare. Little drops of grease dripped from the long strands of his oily hair, hitting the hard cover of Harry's textbook. _Tap, tap, tap._

"Mister Potter," he drawled in his low, monotonous voice, placing an unnecessarily heavy emphasis on each consonant, and dragging out each syllable as long as possible, his clearly irritating style of speech making Harry want to eat his own head, because it was being described in an utterly long, unnecessary sentence, unbearable to read –

"Mister Potter!" Snape hissed again in annoyance, cutting off the narrator in mid-sentence. This time he spoke much faster, his voice five pitches higher, and with much more emotion. That's better. Anyway, he continued: "this is neither the time to sleep, nor to discuss your laundry. Twenty points from Gryffindor. And I want to see you on Friday evening for detention."

Snape's voice had returned to its long, irritating drawl by the time he had finished speaking. Harry cringed to himself, annoyed that he had to waste his Friday with Snape, but more disgusted at the stream of grease leaking from the professor's head. It continued to drip, like a tap which someone has not properly shut. To his dismay, Snape did not leave but instead remained in his spot, uttering insults at Harry in his low monotone. By the time Snape did return to the front of the class, there was a disturbingly large puddle of oil on Harry's textbook. In disgust, Harry wiped it off.

"Defence against the dark arts isn't the way it used to be since Snape has started teaching it," Harry muttered to Ron, as Snape went back to reading his book of love poems he had written about the Dark Lord.

"The moment I saw you _Avada Kedavra _those Muggle-borns, during our long walk on the beach, I knew that you were the Dark Lord for me," Snape droned, his tedious drawl suddenly becoming heavy with greasy emotion. "Precious nights spent under twinkling stars/wrapped in your arms, my nose-less mutant man, and I, in that French maid costume you bought me on our anniversary..."

Snape blew his nose loudly into his sleeve, leaving a large, greasy glob of yellow fluid on his robe. Harry shuddered. He realized that he hadn't given Ron enough credit for his emo poems, which now seemed like literary masterpieces after Snape's shameless butchery of poetry.

Arduously the hour passed, Harry using every particle of strength in his body to stay awake and listen to Snape's terrible poetry. At last the bell rang, cutting him off in the middle of his poem about riding the Ferris wheel at the amusement park with Voldemort while _Avada Kedavra_-ing Muggle children. Snape looked displeased. "For homework, I want an essay comparing key metaphors and themes in _Candlelit Dinners with He Who Must Not Be Named_ and _You Make Me Forget about Lily Potter_," he called after the students, who were running out of the classroom as if they were in a stampede.

Potions class was like a Christmas Party after Snape's class, but the time dragged on slowly for Harry. At last the lunch bell sounded, and the others darted out of the stifling room to enjoy their break. "Sure you can't come with us?" Ron asked Harry hopefully.

Harry shook his head in disappointment and Ron left with a tempting picnic basket in his hand.

After everyone had left, Harry nervously approached Slughorn. "Er, hello professor," he said, unsure of what exactly he was to ask him.

Slughorn looked up and beamed. "Ah, Harry, what can I do for you?"

"Er, Dumbledore told me to talk to you. He, um, he wants me to get to know you better, professor."

"I see what you're getting at," Slughorn said slowly. And to Harry's surprise, Slughorn immediately jumped out of his seat, locking the classroom door and pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "It'll have to be a quick one though," he said with a wide grin. "Just let me find my jar of Vaseline..."

"No!" Harry exclaimed when he realized where Slughorn was going with this. "That's not what I came to see you for. I just needed to talk to you about...about..."

Slughorn waited curiously, but Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say. "Professor Dumbledore said...there's a memory I need to get from you..."

Immediately Slughorn's expression changed. He rose and put away the champagne at once. "You may leave now," he mumbled, avoiding Harry's eyes.

"But sir –"

"I mean it! Out of my office, this instance!" Slughorn shouted suddenly.

"But please sir, Dumbledore said it's really important –"

"Tell Dumbledore not to prod his nose into matters in which he doesn't belong!" roared the professor, opening the door and waiting for Harry to leave.

"It's just one memory, sir, what harm could that –"

"I WAS YOUNG AND IN COLLEGE! I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER!" Slughorn exploded. "NOW OUT OF MY OFFICE, AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THIS EVER AGAIN!"

Harry, feeling it best to comply, scurried out. The door shut with a loud slam behind him. Harry quietly walked away, bewildered and confused.


	8. Lemon Scented Betrayal

****Hi everyone, I know that it's been forever since I last updated this story, but I hope that I still have some readers left. I had gotten stuck for awhile but I've missed this fan fic and intend to finish it :) This isn't the best chapter but I just wanted to let you all know that I haven't abandoned this story. I love reading your reviews, so please tell me what you think. Happy reading!

**Chapter eight: Lemon Scented Betrayal**

Unsure of what to do now, Harry dragged himself to Dumbledore's office to tell him what had happened. He was puzzled over the entire situation. What was this secret memory that Dumbledore wanted? Why wouldn't Slughorn give it to him? How was Harry supposed to extract it from him? And why didn't Malfoy ever want to spoon with him anymore? All these questions and more disturbed his dark and brooding mind.

Harry sighed heavily as he entered the office. To his dismay he found that there was nobody there. He turned to leave, when his eyes fell upon the tattered hat lying on Dumbledore's desk. He hesitated – one night had been enough, had it not? He didn't want to hurt Ron, so the right thing to do would be to just get out of Dumbledore's office right then. He didn't want to hear more of Ron's emo poetry, and he didn't wish to inflict that pain on anybody else.

But why was it suddenly so hard to turn away? How could he possibly turn away, when the object of his desire was lying there all alone, simply waiting for him? Harry's face produced the most pained and agonized expression it could muster as his hands reached for the doorknob and his feet slowly dragged themselves towards the door.

Weakness overcame him before he reached the door, and instead he turned back around and nearly dashed to the alluring hat.

"We're just going to chat," he told himself. "Nothing has to happen."

As soon as he pulled the hat over his head, he felt all sense of control and restraint leaving. "Hello, darling," he said in the deepest and sexiest tone his awkward, screechy voice could produce.

"Well, well – look who's come back," the hat drawled.

Harry tried his hardest to appear cool. "I was, er, just passing by. I mean, it's not like I've been thinking about you all day or anything. I haven't been, you know, dreaming about your sexy face every moment since I last saw you and longing to caress your smooth fabric and make sweet, passionate love..." Harry cleared his throat to disguise the sudden burst of emotion. He hoped that the hat hadn't noticed, and that he was succeeding in his attempt to play hard-to-get.

"Where are your friends, Potter?" the hat asked coolly.

"They're having a picnic. But I'm too mature for those childish sort of things," said Harry in his best attempt at a deep voice.

He was beginning to hope again that the hat would make the first move, but a part of him was telling him that it would be best to take off the hat at once and leave Dumbledore's office.

"Don't try to deny your feelings, Potter," said the hat. "I can see everything inside your mind, and your desires for me are quite plain. However, I sense that there is some hesitance in you."

Harry sighed as maturely as he could. "Yeah, you're right. It's just that Ron isn't happy about us making lemons, and I don't want to hurt him. He is my best friend."

"And why isn't he happy about our relationship?" asked the hat.

"I reckon he's jealous. After all, I'm Harry freakin' Potter, and he's just some ginger kid who's constantly overshadowed by my greatness."

"And nobody ever wants the poor ginger kid with last year's shoes," the hat agreed knowingly.

Harry sighed once more. "Oh hat, it's not easy being so amazing all the time."

"I understand how that feels, my boy."

This was all too much for Harry, and he seized the hat at once and kissed it passionately. The urge to conquer and consume this sexy piece of fabric was too great. He wanted to possess it completely, to feel its scratchy, irresistible surface over his body as they reached that precious glowing pleasure together.

Harry shed his clothes, moaning as he felt the hat's delicate fabric rubbing against his naked body. "Ohhhh Sorty," he moaned. "Don't stop!"

"Say the words," Sorty hissed in his ear.

"Dry clean only! Dry clean only!"

They gasped in unison as he entered the hat's opening. They were both taken into a heavenly, ecstatic bliss as Harry thrust his burning flesh into the hat, the pleasure overwhelming them both. And once again they reached their sweet climax, and it was better than any orgasm Harry had ever had before.

He lay panting on Dumbledore's floor as he peeled Sorty off his head and placed him back on the stool. Harry dressed quickly and left the office. As incredible as the shag had been, Harry couldn't help feeling guilty for having broken his promise to Ron. He would be devastated if he found out! Harry couldn't bear to think of the atrocious poetry he would be forced to listen.

Feeling like a rotten friend, Harry promised himself that he wouldn't do it again. He'd had his fun twice now, and his desires were at last satisfied. He would take a shower as soon as he reached the dormitory and scrub away the stench of lemon with Ron's favourite lavender soap. Ron would never know.


End file.
